


The Favored Sons of History

by havisham



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Gen, Parallels, Seventies Robert Redford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander Pierce and his justifications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Favored Sons of History

Alexander Pierce had always believed in justice. Of course he had doubts -- who in the world didn’t? -- but he knew in the end what was just and what was not. In part, he thought, it was due to his stern New England ancestors -- those who never compromised, who managed to look dour and disapproving even in color photographs. There was no ambiguity with them, no. They knew the importance of structure, of living a good life, and of their likelihood of getting into Heaven. 

(Their place -- his place -- was guaranteed.) 

And knowing was half the battle. 

But there was another influence on his life, one that would shape it, change it, forever. He was five years old in 1943, the coddled only son of a lawyer and a shopkeeper’s daughter. His father had signed up the day after Pearl Harbor and disappeared permanently from Alexander’s life. He remembered small details that never resolved into a complete picture: a crooked smile, red hair and strong hands, his name. 

“Alexander,” his father said, picking him up. “That means you’re a world-conqueror. Remember that.” 

He did, always. 

His mother, he had more concrete memories of. She was beautiful, with dark, dramatic looks that had brought her up in the world, before they cast her down again. She wasn’t vain, not really, but she was practical. 

Never let both of your feet leave the ground, she would always tell him, adjusting his collar. 

Despite all of that, his mother loved going to the movies, and one day in 1944, she brought young Alexander with her. It was a rare treat, going to the theater with mother. They lived miles from town and gas-rationing made it difficult to get around. This trip had been planned months in advance. The film itself was utterly forgettable, some war-time melodrama that he was too young to understand. It was the newsreel that went before it that mattered. It was a special newsreel, about the war (they always about the war) -- about heroes (they were always about heroes) -- about a man who wore a mask, and whose name was Captain America. 

“Please, who buys this corny shit?” someone besides them snorted, only to protest at a elbow at his side from his companion. 

“Shh! There’s a kid,” the other man said, catching the look Alexander gave them, curious at someone who didn’t find the whole concept of Captain America to be thrilling. Alexander did. He wished he had a serum that would make him big and strong, so he could punch out Nazis. 

That was just, wasn’t it? 

He’d settle for being the Bucky to Cap -- who was ordinary, sure, but there was something to said for standing next to greatness. Who said that some of that golden light wouldn’t spill over to you? 

Yes, Alexander decided, looking up at the bright screen. He believed in justice. He believed in the things Captain America was fighting for. 

He believed it all. 

But Captain America died. The war ended. Alexander grew up.

*****

He went to his father's alma mater, and after four years in New Haven, he moved to Washington D.C. and interned for an idealistic, one-term Congressman. But Congress wasn’t where he wanted to be, after all, and he started looking for new opportunities in the State Department. He first encountered SHIELD at a cocktails party in the mid-sixties, after listening to Peggy Carter give a presentation about it. 

He wanted to speak to her -- he was handsome, in those days, and his steps weren’t missing a bit swagger in them. She shot him down, crisply, like three bullets in the head. 

Pierce flushed, unused to being dismissed. Howard Stark sniggered and raised a champagne flute in his direction.

 *****

He married at the same year. His wife shared the same ambitions he did. They had a daughter, named Julia. Pierce’s career took off by leaps and bounds, as he knew it would. Tragedy struck in the form of a car crash, leaving his wife and young son dead. 

He met Nick Fury for first time during the funeral. Fury was sympathetic, but impatient, like he had many other places to be. Pierce didn’t mind. Fury was already important enough that this was probably true. 

It was a hot day and the muggy air pressed on them like an oppressive blanket. Pierce wondered how Fury had lost that eye. An eye-patch seemed like a … theatrical choice. Fury smirked, as he knew what Pierce was thinking. 

Julia was sent off to boarding school. Every time Pierce saw her, she had grown more sullen.

Perhaps he had not tried very hard with her, Pierce reflected. He had different priorities. Julia would understand that, when she was older. 

*****

Pierce found Fury in the aftermath and dragged him into the waiting chopper. As the ground fell away from them, Pierce handed Fury a drink and got one of his own. After a half-second’s worth of hesitation, Fury threw it back quickly, like he didn’t have anything to fear. Pierce laughed in approval and did the same. Another world-conqueror.

But still, Pierce felt a low burn of envy in his stomach, looking at Fury. He was ten years younger than Pierce, and most of his files were squirreled away from most people’s pursual, including Pierce’s own. But Pierce knew enough to be wary. 

But he couldn’t hide the fact that he was grinning so hard it felt like his face was going to crack. Fury was smiling back, more reserved, but still triumphant. 

“You know,” Pierce said with a rueful shake of his head, “If I knew then what I know now, I would have never encouraged my daughter to join her old man in the diplomacy business.” 

He waited for Fury’s reply, which came after several minutes of silence. 

“This where I’m supposed to share some cute story about own my kid?” Fury said with a weary sigh. Pierce shrugged. Fury’s files were scant on the subject of biographical notes. If they were to be believed, Fury had come from nothing and went home to nothing, every day. 

It didn’t take a genius to know that the files were doctored, and that Fury had been the one doing it. Pierce smiled. He knew that before the attack, Fury had thought he was soft, unwilling to get his hands dirty. But Bogotá had opened his eyes to a new way of doing things. 

“I don’t think you had any. Kids, I mean. But Julia -- she means the world to me, Nick. I don’t know how to thank you for saving her,” he said. “Or what I would have done if --” 

“You would have done what you needed to do,” Fury said, and Pierce found himself nodding. 

“Necessity can be a bitch,” Pierce agreed, wishing like hell he hadn’t quit smoking after his wife had died. His hands needed something more to do than just hold a now-empty tumbler. 

*****

Nothing had changed about him, except, perhaps he called Julia more often now. She took his calls too, and tentatively, they began to build a relationship that should have always existed between them. 

Pierce thought -- _I am doing this for her. For her children. They will be safe, they will be favored._

Sometimes when he called her, she sounded happy to hear him. 

*****

He had been a part of HYDRA for almost twenty years before he was allowed to know about the asset. HYDRA, even when cocooned within SHIELD, was not the most efficient organization (if one discounted Zola’s boasts, and it was prudent to always do that.) But the asset truly was remarkable, more valuable than anything else HYDRA ever had -- since the Cosmic Cube had been lost in the North Atlantic, anyway. 

(He was more valuable than Alexander Pierce’s continuing loyalty, certainly.) 

The Winter Soldier was usually reserved for missions east of the Iron Curtain, except for special occasions -- the grass knoll was far more crowded than anyone knew. But after the Soviet Union fell, HYDRA found more and more uses for him. And one a cold February morning, Pierce came face to face with him for the first time. 

His superior was condescending, seemingly unaware of how little time he had left. 

It was a privilege, he said, that Pierce should even be present. 

Pierce nodded vaguely, keeping his eyes trained on the still form of the man in front of him.  
The Winter Soldier was strapped to a steel-reinforced chair, but if he wanted to, he could have easily escaped his restraints and killed everyone in the room. Pierce felt a long stifled part of him stir. 

The asset didn’t move from his seat. His eyes were dull and lifeless, and his lank hair spilled on his face. He looked like… Pierce felt the almost sick sense of triumph he felt when he recognized who the asset was. Who the asset had _been._

James Buchanan Barnes had died in 1945, the same year as Alexander Pierce’s father. He had fallen from a speeding train, down into the darkness below. He had died. The Winter Soldier wasn’t Bucky Barnes any more than Bucky Barnes had been Captain America. 

That was all right. That was better than all right. 

Pierce studied the Winter Soldier’s blank face. 

“We have work to do,” he said aloud. 

Something flickered in the Winter Soldier’s eye -- but it was gone before Pierce could take a second look.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Suzelle, for taking a look at it. 
> 
> Title from Wolf Parade.


End file.
